Good Neighbors
by LM
Summary: JLI era. At Max's insistence, J'onn reluctantly assigns three of the newest recruits to a surveillance mission.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Notes: This takes place early in the Justice League International years. If you aren't familiar with the JLI--don't worry! I always try to make my fics accessible. :) But some random factoids to get you started . . .

Maxwell Lord - He is a combo of a corporate head of the JLI and the PR man of the JLI. In recent years DC portrayed him as an Evil Secret Villain; as far as I'm concerned, this is nonsense. Max is not evil. Slimy, yes. Underhanded, yes. Greedy, certainly. But not Eeeeevil and Just Waiting to Shoot Everyone Mwa Ha Ha. FYI! Powers: doing corporate mergers?

Booster Gold - He is from the 25th century and traveled back in time to be a hero. He has JUST started his illustrious superhero career and it is not widely KNOWN that he's from the future. In fact, he has not told the League as much. Powers: none, but his future technology allows him to fly and blast things.

Barda - She grew up on Apokolips as part of the evil, crazy, roving elite "police" force there, but reformed, helped Mister Miracle escape, and married him. She is one tough lady. Powers: being incredibly tough and strong. (Also, tall.)

Captain Atom - He made his public superhero debut recently, but according to news stories he's been fighting a "secret battle against crime" since the 70s. However, no one has ever seen him until very recently. Powers: absorbing nuclear energy, being super strong and super tough, and being able to fly.

Batman - Chronically overworked. Powers: he's Batman, and he can breathe in space.

J'onn the Martian Manhunter - Chronically underpaid. Powers: keeping his sanity whilst keeping the Leaguers in line. Also that mind-reading and turning invisible and intangible stuff.

Onto the story! :D

* * *

J'onn frowned across his highly polished desk (which rarely had time to become smudged, as J'onn spent most of his time rushing from disaster to in-house disaster, trying to maintain some semblance of order) as he set the manilla folders aside. "I am not at all sure of your choices, Max."

"They'll be fine," the businessman reassured him with a smile that left J'onn with an impression of grease and a fleeting but powerful urge for a bath. "It's a simple surveillance mission, after all."

"Still, Batman knows Gotham best and if he feels--"

"Batman," Max said, smile never wavering, "is overworked. Chronically."

Well, J'onn couldn't deny that.

"Besides," Max continued, leaning back in his chair as he rested his feet on the desk, "Booster may be new to the hero business, but Barda grew up on Apocalypse--"

"Apokolips," J'onn corrected with his innate Martian sense of pronunciation.

"Yes, that. And that's not exactly a good neighborhood, is it now?"

"Indeed, Mister Miracle has described it as more of an 'ever-burning mouth of hell, where men cower like whipped dogs in the ominous shadows'," J'onn deadpanned.

Maxwell Lord threw him a suspicious look, as though he suspected he was being mocked. "Ye-es. Anyway, obviously she can handle herself. And Captain Atom--he's been operating since the 70s, and with that kind of expertise he'll be more than qualified to keep the other two out of trouble." Max beamed in self-congratulations.

J'onn stifled a sigh. He, too, had read the articles, watched the interviews detailing Captain Atom's "secret war against crime" throughout the years. And yet . . . he couldn't help feeling uneasy. "Captain Atom has extremely strong mental blocks," he said without quite knowing why he was offering the information.

Max's feet came off the desk with a thump. "What are you saying? He's purposely blocking--?"

"No, no," the Martian Manhunter said swiftly. "They are natural blocks. Everyone has them. The Captain's are just . . . strong." Somehow it didn't convey the inert power of the towering shields. "Booster's as well."

"Oh, well." Max relaxed. "No offense in the world, J'onn, but you can't expect people to want you poking around in their heads all the time."

"It is not a matter of 'poking around'! I respect their privacy," J'onn said, affronted. "It is just that normally humans unconsciously project a certain amount of subconscious imagery that--"

"What's Barda's about?" Taken aback, J'onn answered without thinking about it. "Fighting, mostly."

"Good, good."

"And . . . cooking."

"Even better! Our little team won't have to live off of take-out, eh?" Max chuckled.

Privately, J'onn was not so sure the heroes would want to live off of mayonnaise lasanga and tuna sorbet.

Still, it _was_ a simple, harmless surveillance assignment.

Maybe, he thought, the heroes could be their _own_ problem for a while instead of his.


	2. Chapter 2

Max's beaming smile swept around the three superheroes seated in front of his desk. Captain Atom, silver skin gleaming, looked slightly uncomfortable with his legs carefully crossed, Barda was masterfully dwarfing her chair as it squeaked in pitiful protest, and Booster Gold had a faraway, heroic look on his face that suggested distant, noble thoughts, at least until you noticed his gaze was aimed at the tropical fish lazily drifting around the tank by the window.

"Well!" Max said brightly. "This is exciting. Are you excited?"

"Mm," Captain Atom said.

"Explain our task again," Barda demanded, rearranging her chainmail.

_"I'm_ excited, Max," Booster said cheerfully. "Groovy fish!"

"Yes. Yes. Now, I know none of you have been in the League for long, but this assignment is low risk. Besides . . . Captain Atom's been around the block a few times, eh Cap?"

"Wha-? Erm, yes."

"To answer your question, Barda, you three will be keeping tabs on several unsavory characters . . . Paul Booker, William Tockman, and Duncan Pramble . . ." Max paused dramatically, savoring the build up as much as the blank expressions on the heroes' faces. " . . . better known as Major Disaster, Clock King, and Multi-Man!"

The blank expressions remained blank.

"Who?" Barda asked, a frown creasing her brow.

"Is he a _real_ major?" said Captain Atom.

And Booster Gold said nothing, his gaze remaining alert and empty.

All in all, the rest of the meeting went better than Max expected, though given his expectations this was perhaps not such an achievement. He'd anticipated some protests to the mission from Captain Atom (who was, after all, a veteran superhero) and from Booster Gold (who was, after all, a gloryhound). But Captain Atom's carefully blank expression didn't change and Booster, who knew how to market himself, continued radiating his aura of Bright Young Professionalism.

"So that's the mission," Max said, making a special effort to keep his voice cheerful. "Just stay in headquarters and keep these criminals--these _alleged_ criminals," he corrected himself, always conscious of the risk of libel, "under surveillance. Almost like a vacation really, ha ha!"

"Ha ha," agreed Captain Atom in a tone of voice that somehow managed to convey insubordination while remaining overtly respectful. "I'd like to know more about our . . . headquarters, sir."

"Certainly, Captain." Max kept his teeth clenched in a smile. He didn't like people who asked questions; he liked people who said "Yes, Max" or "What a good idea, Max!" and unfortunately there was a distinct shortage of such people in the Justice League. "In fact, you're staying at the house next door."

"We own the house next door?" Booster said. "That's lucky."

"More like we're borrowing it." The property in question had recently been bought up by Bruce Wayne, who had then been persuaded to lend it to the JLI in return for "favors owed", according to Batman. Max had delicately refrained from inquiring exactly what kind of favors a billionaire playboy might owe the Dark Knight.

Barda, who had been listening intently, leaned forward, thereby monopolizing Max's view. "So we will be in a criminal neighborhood."

"Oh, I wouldn't say _that_--"

"Will there be drug dealers?"

"No! We-ell . . ." It _was_ in Gotham, after all. "Hardly any, I'm sure."

"Or perhaps big, burly men trying to force the downtrodden inhabitants to purchase their 'insurance,'" Barda continued , cracking her knuckles with a distant, pleasurable smile.

Max's eyes narrowed in realization. _"No beating up drug dealers._ Or anyone else! I mean it! This is going to require a _subtle_ touch; you have to remain incognito."

"But I'm famous," Booster protested, interrupting Barda's attempt to pin Max to his seat with her glare.

"Fairly well known, at least. Don't worry, I've made preparations," Max soothed. "You and Cap don't have anything to worry about."

Captain Atom's silver skin wrinkled in a frown. "Me?"

Booster and Barda simultaneously turned in their chairs to study him.

"You're _shiny,"_ Booster observed.

"And naked," Barda said unblushingly.

The captain's cheeks (the ones on his face, Max mentally specified) darkened as he cycled through several entertaining expressions of embarrassment and betrayal before settling on indignation. "I am NOT naked!"

"Not quite," Booster agreed, craning his neck as Captain Atom scowled and pulled his muscular silver leg farther over his lap.

"Ahem," Max interjected. "If you'd read the articles in _Time_ and _Life_, you'd know that Captain Atom can retract his . . . silveryness . . . and appear as a normal human being. Isn't that right?" he added. "That's how you maintained a secret identity all those years, correct?"

"I . . . but . . . but . . . SECRET!" he sputtered. "SECRET identity."

"Captain, Captain, Captain . . ." Max shook his head slowly, a beatific smile on his face. "I _said_ I'd made preparations, didn't I? Don't worry, your secret identity will be safe." He opened his desk drawer and reached in. "Now, who wants their sunglasses first?"


	3. Chapter 3

Humming a song that wouldn't be written for several centuries, Booster Gold sat on his bed, elbow leaning against his suitcase as he rested his chin in his hand.

He'd finished packing; now he had started thinking.

Some people would have been surprised to discover that since traveling from the 25th century to the 20th, Booster had spent quite a lot of time in thought. Granted, they were seldom _deep_ thoughts on the meaning of life or the sound of one hand clapping (though sometimes at breakfast he wondered irritably why toast always lands buttered side down.) No, mainly they ran along the lines of "why doesn't my 'teevee' respond to voice commands?" and "how many world wars have there been so far?" and, one of the biggies, _"which_ pedal is the brake, again?" If the truly wise man is the one who realizes the depth of his ignorance, then Booster was definitely one of the intelligentsia.

But although he was vague on the details of the 20th century, Booster _did_ have a basic, instinctive understanding of its people, because _people_ were always the same. The trappings of the day were thrown over around a familiar, humanity-shaped framework. Once you'd realized that old men were complaining about the "degenerate, worthless youth these days" in Greece in _1083 BC_, you really knew everything you needed to about humanity.

Currently humanity was troubling Booster, a specific bit of humanity named Maxwell Lord.

Max. Max had weaseled his way into the Justice League under false pretences and remained there by being sufficiently repentant and considerably capable. The Martian Manhunter had assured the Leaguers that Max truly was a changed man, and no one argued with him . . . partly because Martians were telepathic, so he ought to know, and partly because . . . well, he was _J'onn._

But forgiving didn't mean forgetting . . . and one of the things that hadn't been forgotten was that Booster had been recruited by Max.

When Max had propositioned him--no, wait, Booster knew better than to leave _that_ open to 20th century interpretation--when Max had _invited him to join the Justice League_, Booster hadn't known that Mr. Lord wasn't, as he claimed, acting with the League's knowledge and permission. He hadn't known that Max was nudging the League towards ever great publicity and popularity for his own ends. He _certainly_ hadn't known that Max had _staged _Booster's fight with the Royal Flush Gang, which was what had earned Booster Gold membership in the League to begin with.

"Of course we believe you, Booster," J'onn said kindly when the facts came to light and Booster protested rather wildly that he hadn't known. The Martian threw a sympathetic smile down the conference table. "Max admitted as much. No one questions your veracity."

But even as he said it Black Canary had studied her fingernails (pointlessly, since she wore gloves) and Blue Beetle's eyes had flicked towards Booster, sharp as a knife, and Guy Gardner--well, Guy let out a reverberant belch which inspired loud and lengthy dialogue that J'onn later cut out of the minutes of the meetings, to be replaced with "Fifteen minutes of childish quarreling followed." A distraction for which Booster was grateful.

So it was a rocky start, but one that had gradually improved as Booster followed along on missions and smiled brightly at everything and concentrated on getting along with everyone, even Guy, (although that seemed to be something of a wasted effort.) And now he hardly ever walked into an awkward silence that meant he'd just been the subject of discussion and dissection.

Still, Booster felt that being handpicked by Maxwell Lord for a mission would only lead to him, Booster, once again being feathered by the same brush as Max, or whatever the saying was. He didn't want to be stuck as someone else's satellite anyway; he wanted to forge his own orbit.

But how to do that, hmmm . . .

Booster shrugged and put the matter aside for the moment. He would figure something out. In the meantime . . . he grinned as a new thought struck him, a thought that Max definitely would not have approved of. Bouncing to his feet, he trotted into the hall in search of a phone.

* * *

Barda shook the last of the utensils out of their drawer as Beetle walked in. Well, he didn't so much enter the room as hover in the doorway, actually. But Barda knew he was there. You didn't last long on Apokalips if you didn't notice people behind you. "Hello, Blue Beetle!" she said cheerfully.

"Oh . . . hi Barda." He paused as she unplugged the toaster, carefully wrapped it in tissue paper, and fitted it in one of the massive suitcases gaping open on the floor. "Whaaat are you doing, exactly?"

"Packing," Barda replied, wondering if she should take the popcorn popper. On the one hand, it _only_ made popcorn. On the other hand, what if they wanted popcorn? Reaching a decision, she unplugged it.

"I can't help but notice," Beetle said after a lengthy silence, "that you're taking all the appliances."

"That is an exaggeration," Barda said, not looking up.

"Well, true, you haven't taken the stove or the fridge yet--"

"There you are, then," she said triumphantly.

"Ah . . . right," he said lamely, obviously unable to come to grips with her flawless logic. "But you _are_ taking everything else."

"Not the dishwasher."

Beetle rubbed his forehead hard enough that little blue creases spread across his mask. "Right, not that either. But everything else."

"I am going on a mission," Barda explained, testing the sharpness of the steak knives. "Obviously a Modern Woman must make sure that she brings the appropriate tools with her when travelling to a new location."

The man in blue slowly drew up his gaping jaw. "R . . . ight."

Barda threw him a sympathetic look. She didn't blame the Beetle for his confusion. Being a Modern Woman on this planet was tortorously complicated.

* * *

With dedication and training, with sweat and tears, with perseverance and good old American know how, the United States Air Force had finally succeeded in teaching Captain Atom how to cross his legs. Or, rather, they had taught him how _not_ to cross his legs.

Do not throw your leg across your knee so fast you're in danger of dislocating something, they had told him. Do not press your legs together so hard that they look like they're about to meld together into one lump of silver. Do not, we really mean this, do NOT "casually" drop your hands to shield your nether regions, because _there will never be a casual way to pull that off._ And, no, you may not have pants.

His Air Force trainers pointed out that, in his silvery superhero form, Captain Atom wasn't anatomically correct anyway, which was _partially_ true. In most ways he actually was. From the ridges of (literally) steely muscles of his chest to the sleek dip of his lower back to the wash of chrome across his thighs, he resembled nothing so much as a talented artisan's masterpiece, in dedication to the human form. Except, it seemed, the artist had been slightly embarrassed about one particular . . . _area_ . . . of the human form, and instead of detailing it had simply left a bit of a tactfully smooth bump there.

Unlike the hypothetical artist, Captain Atom did not suffer from slight embarrassment. Instead he suffered from a _hell of a lot_ of embarrassment, with lashings of humiliation, shame, and horror on the side. True, he was about as likely to get arrested for indecent exposure as a naked Ken doll, but it was the _idea_ of the thing.

So the various psychologists and and experts of the armed forces had worked long and hard to get the often irritable Captain to adjust and stop trying to strategically angle his body away from occupants when entered a room, which gave him an odd gait like a gimpy crab.

Finally the military beat it out of him. Not literally, of course; he was their HERO, wasn't he? No, they used memos and paperwork and hours of practice.

And so Captain Atom lowered himself with measured slowness into the plush chair in front of Max's desk, hands on the arms of the chair as he scooted it forward a bit before raising his left leg a few inches, pivoting it in a steady swing until it landed gently on his right knee.

Captain Atom had been with the Justice League International for about a week and trusted Maxwell Lord IV about one eighty-ninth the distance he could throw him. (Super-strength, in common with many powers, wreaks havoc on cliches.) Max smiled all the time, and oddly enough the flash of his teeth reminded Captain Atom of the _un_smiling eyes that studied him whenever he paced the halls of the underground military base that was too secret to have a name. A _calculating_ look. Captain Atom was not big on metaphors, but if he'd tried his hand at symbolism he would've referenced chessboards and pawns.

And why was it, he wondered, that he was always the pawn?

"I'm just saying I may have _commitments_ that prevent me from . . . from spending an extended stay at this house of yours--"

"This house of _yours,_ Captain," Max interrupted genially. "What kind of commitments do you have that take precedence over the Justice League, exactly?"

Somehow Cap would've felt much better if Max had delivered that line with a scowl or accusatory stare instead of, as ever, a gleaming smile. A facade, definitely, but the attitude behind it seemed more probing than upset. Atom shifted uncomfortably, almost switching his crossed legs, but remembering not to just in time. "Well. Outstanding . . . cases. Tracking, uh, villains. That sort of thing." Was that even superhero language? Did they call their assignments "cases"? "Of course," he added, "I'm flattered you want me to help with this surveillance mission and I'd like to help if I _could_, but--"

"Of course you would, Captain. Of course you would." Max leaned back in his chair, lazily spinning a pencil in his hand. "And the League wants to help _you._ So I'll tell you what. You just take all the time you need for those cases of yours."

"Really?" Cap couldn't believe his luck.

"Of course! After all, there are three people in the house; we don't need _everyone_ watching the suspects _all_ the time." Max gave a little laugh to underline how absurd the idea was. "In _fact,_ why don't you take Booster Gold with you when you go on those little adventures? He could use the experience."

"Er . . ."

"Or take Barda. You can give her some lessons in self-restraint and reasonable force."

"Ah . . ."

"I know, why don't we _alternate_ which one you take?" Max suggested brightly. "Yes, that's what we'll do. Don't worry, Captain Atom, you're with the _Justice League_ now. You'll never need to do a mission alone again."

"How . . . wonderful," Cap choked out.


End file.
